


Madam Skygga

by Mazen



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Daddy Daaé - Freeform, F/M, Horror, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazen/pseuds/Mazen
Summary: Gustave Daaé tells his daughter the story of Madam Skygga.Inspired by BozBozBoz' stage name for Christine in her ficIt's in your souland a ghost story from the valley where I grew up in Denmark.
Relationships: Gustave Daaé & Christine Daaé
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	Madam Skygga

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to Boz for coming up with the name!

It was a cold autumn evening and a sense of impending snow hung in the air. When you spent as much time under the open sky as the Daaés, you quickly learned to read the weather and feel the subtle changes as each day took them closer to subzero temperatures. Soon, they would have to find shelter each night, spending what little money they had on finding a place to sleep when they in the summer could do it for free outside. Pappa had begun to contemplate leaving the familiar surroundings ofø Scandinavia behind to seek out warmer weather and a new audience to keep them fed. Never did he long for a house of his own like Christine did.

Christine remembered little else than traveling. She knew they had once lived in a tiny cottage near Uppsala with her mother, but the only memory she had was sitting by her mother's sickbed, singing with her and worrying about the way her mother's voice grew more weak by every verse.

After her mother's passing they had left the cottage, never to return.

Nevertheless, sleeping under the stars was one of Christine’s favorite things about the nomadic life and for her it was not the cold that made this autumn evening so gloomy, although she did worry about her Pappa’s insistent cough; it was the sheer darkness she saw when she looked up at the sky where clouds had hidden every single one of those twinkling lights and the full moon as well.

It made her feel very much alone in the world to lie beneath a dark, moonless sky.

Her Pappa, always so in tune with her inner world, noticed her unease. Usually, when melancholy settled within her, he would find his violin and play for her. But the delicate wood did not fare well in the damp, cold air around them now and so he did the next best thing:

He told her a story.

* * *

In this valley, a few kilometers from here, lies the small town of Älvdalen in the middle of the valley. Although it isn’t far from the border to Norway, not many people pass through it. The townspeople have all lived there for generations and only very few ever dream about leaving the town to travel the world. And those who try don’t always succeed.

Many years ago a man who lived in Älvdalen fell in love with a foreign woman, a gypsy with the voice so other-worldly that they thought her to be an elf. Their love was frowned upon and so they were forced to keep their relationship secret. Every night they would meet in a dark cellar where they would express their love and plan their elopement to another town where they could marry and spend their days together.

Shortly before their planned escape, the man died in a terrible accident in these very woods. The whole town mourned, but his lover most of all. She dressed in mourning garb to show her sorrow, much to the vexation of the man’s family who didn’t want anyone to associate the man with her. Daily, she would suffer their dirty looks and hide from their crude remarks.

Soon, it became apparent that the woman was pregnant. No one would believe that the deceased man was the father, but when the woman gave birth to a son who was the spitting image of his father, it could no longer be denied.

The man’s family accused her of seducing him with her bewitching voice and being responsible for his death. She tried to escape, but got no farther than the edge of the town before they captured her. The townspeople killed her while the little boy was spared and taken in by the man’s family, only because he bore his father’s face.

Ever since that day, people have spoken of encounters with a strange woman in the woods surrounding the town. She’s dressed in mourning garb and wanders the valley each night. It is said that it’s the woman who’s searching for her dead lover to return him to his family, so they will give back her son.

Some nights you can hear her singing, when the bog witch brews and covers the valley in thick white smoke. She calls out for her lover with her spellbinding voice.

But you try to talk to her, she will fade into the shadows, hiding in fear of more cruel remarks like those she suffered in life. This is why they call her Madam Skygga.

* * *

When Gustave’s story ended, the hour had grown late. The forest around them seemed deeper and darker to the widower, almost suffocating; his throat constricted and he found it harder to breathe. But as a father, his child’s comfort came first and he shook the feeling off, contributing it to mere exhaustion.

The tale about the ghost wandering the valley they were in should have frightened the young girl, but Christine did not fear the ghost of Madam Skygga. All she felt was compassion for the poor woman who had lost the man she loved and then her son. She understood why the woman refused to give up, even in death, and it spoke of the strength inside the woman after all she had been through.

Her own Pappa carried the same strength. There had been talk of Christine having to live with her elderly grandparents after her mother's death, but Gustave had refused to part with her, no matter how difficult it could be. She had no doubt that he would watch over her forever.

Christine vowed then and there to achieve the same unbreakable strength and would never give up either when it came to someone she loved.

One day, far into the distant future and in another country, that strength was needed when she found herself alone with a son who had his father's face and it was then she remembered Madam Skygga with her mourning garb and enchanting voice.


End file.
